The Key to Erebor
by bizzybetty
Summary: Told from alternating P.O.V. from my OFC and that of Thorin. About a woman who has grown up with the elves in Mirkwood who meets Thorin in Thranduil's dungeon. Continues with their story, and the eventual reclamation of The Lonely Mountain. (NOTE: involving the romance between Thorin and OFC. The story is overall sexually non-graphic, but rated for implied sexuality)
1. Chapter 1

**Part One: Salireal**

Salireal knelt down and examined the earth before her. Her people from the northern kingdom of Arnor had taught her the skill of tracking, and her time with elves had helped her to hone and refine it. From what she could see, there was a company of dwarves, and a set of tracks she did not recognize, that had passed through this direction not two days ahead of her. "Thranduil's people are not going to be pleased," she thought to herself, as she straightened up and adjusted her pack. It was only early autumn, but the chill of winter gripped the forest early, especially this close to the eastern border. Evil was stirring in that direction, however none in Mirkwood had the heart to seek it out. Though Salireal was a guest in the Elf-King's home, King Thranduil's woodland castle was largely underground, and while the light and song of the silvan elves flooded every corridor, Salireal still felt suffocated if she stayed beneath the earth for too long. Despite the fact that the forest of Mirkwood could be treacherous, she still preferred the high, dark canopy of the trees above her to the low, close air of Thranduil's halls.

Next to the tracks of the Dwarf company, Salireal could also see another set of tracks, similar to the other foreign marks walking amongst the dwarves, but this new set seemed as though its owner crawled along on hands and feet, rather than upright. Moving silently off the path, she noticed that the spiders of the east had tracks of their own, following closely the movement of the company. "They grow much too bold, to stalk their prey so near to Thranduil's stronghold," she thought. Salireal was no great warrior, and was untried in battle, but was a skilled hunter and utilized her stealth as her greatest weapon. Of late, she was occupying her time by tracking through the forest and gathering information for the Elf-King. Though the King's own guards and hunters had a much more intimate knowledge of the forest of Mirkwood, they required a number of them to be sent out together, for the sake of protection, whereas Salireal was content to go alone, being much more at ease in her own company. The news that Salireal was bringing back would be truly disturbing to the woodland elves. There was darkness to the east, which had always been known, however lately there was a malevolence creeping through the forest, and though the beasts of Mirkwood were always dangerous, the ones that Salireal had been tracking seemed much more sinister and bent on evil than ever before. Radagast the Brown, the extremely eccentric wizard of the north had even brought back word of a waking evil, unlike any that had been seen since the Last Alliance, that had supposedly taken up residence in the abandoned elvish stronghold of Dol Guldor (though this accusation was quickly dismissed by Thranduil as the ramblings of a half-mad wizard).

Despite the King being unmoved by Radagast's news, it had made Salireal enormously uneasy, and her treks into the forest had become longer and more extensive than before. She did not know what exactly she was searching for. In fact, each time she went out, she ventured farther and farther, and waited at each point longer, as though she were waiting for something, though she did not know why. It was on this, her farthest and longest march that she came across the tracks of the dwarf party. There were twelve, and another that seemed to be injured or asleep, for he was being dragged. And a fourteenth set of tracks that Salireal could not place, which she found both intriguing and frustrating. The last set of tracks did not seem to be with the party, but were undoubtedly following them. Most concerning was that the spiders felt compelled to stalk them this closely to the road. The eleven magic of the Elf-King remained strong, and protected the road through Mirkwood from the evil creeping through the forest, but whoever or whatever was among the party of dwarves was drawing the beasts to the road, and the road lead to Thranduil's house. Salireal knew the elves needed to be warned. Doubling back, Salireal took to the trees, as the elves had shown her, avoiding the hindrance of the underbrush and leaping carefully from branch to branch, trying to regain the distance between her position and that of the dwarves and spiders. The trees grew taller the deeper into the forest she went, and before long Salireal was made to dismount the treetops and run on foot through the wood. She stayed close to the path, wanting the protection of the elven road, when upon crossing the river she noticed the dwarves had ventured off the path and into the woods. "Fools," she mentally chided, "greater beings than dwarves have ventured off the elvish road and paid for their mistake with their lives". The tracks were fresher up here, and seemed only to be a few hours ahead of her now. She followed the trail into the woods, and up to a clearing. She was very close now to Thranduil's keep, and in these clearings some of the King's subjects enjoyed picnics and nighttime feasts with the more pure of the woodland creatures. "Perhaps hunger drove them off the road to seek the elvish gatherings," she thought. There was nothing the forest of Mirkwood could offer for food or drink, unless one knew the precise way to find it, and travelers through the wood died more often of dehydration and starvation than by the hand of some fell beast.

In the clearing she could see where the dwarves became separated. One dwarf became separated, and it seemed as though an eleven host had taken him, and those tracks headed off in the direction of Thranduil's woodland castle. The rest of the dwarves moved to the trees, where their tracks were punctuated by evidence of the spiders. Fearing a lingering beast, and knowing she would not be able to overpower it if it attacked her, Salireal turned and headed back to the home of Thranduil. It was growing much darker now, and as she made her way closer to boarder of Thranduil's home, she sensed rather than heard a presence come up behind her. Ever cautious, she drew her bow and quickly turned to take aim, only to find the familiar face of an elf smirking behind her. "_Mankoi gorga amin, mellon? Nae saian lumme. An lema?" _

Salireal recognized the face of the son of Thranduil, Legolas, who longed to roam the forests of Mirkwood as much as she did, though he was not so free to come and go, being restrained by his courtly duties to his father. "_Amin hiraetha, Legolas"_, she replied. "I know I've been gone too long, and would have stayed out longer, but I fear the spiders from the east are venturing close to your father's doors". "Indeed they have", the prince replied, "We would have been surprised by them had a troop of dwarves not attacked our people in the night. We captured one of them and when we sought the rest out we came across the evil of the east. The beasts are dead now, and the dwarves are…. guests to my father." "Guests'?" replied Salireal, "it is unlike your father, or any elf to keep dwarves as guests". _"L'quelin naugrim naa ba naugrim"_ spat the elf. His displeasure for the company of dwarves was evident on his face. "My father is keeping them in our dungeons. There is one among them who my father is certain is the son of Thrain and heir to Erebor. If this is so, then the Dwarf king is surely come to avenge the destruction of his people". Salireal stopped walking at this, genuinely confused, and asked "why should he seek his vengeance among the elves?" Legolas turned to her and said, "When the dragon came to Erebor, and the dwarves' need was most dire, my father refused to aid in their defense. He deemed the battle lost, and would not risk the lives of his people to save the already fallen realm." Salireal thought she imagined a hint of shame in this statement, but any thought of her friend feeling remorse for not risking the lives of elves for the lives of dwarves quickly fled her mind.

They had entered now the great hall of Thranduil, the ceiling so high, it was almost like being outside. The walls were carved into the shape of trees, and light and soft music played upon the high arches of the great room. Tall, beautiful shadows of elves were cast along the sides of the hall, and in the center, towards the back, stood a high wooden throne that seemed to be glowing from within with a soft light. On it sat the Elf-King Thranduil, high and proud, a gentle light shining around his golden head, the centuries of his long life not touching the beauty of his regal face. Legolas turned towards Salireal, his face a younger, equally beautiful version of his father's; "Go and make ready, we are feasting tonight. A new shipment from Lake-Town has arrived."

Salireal was weary from her run back, but could hardly refuse the temptation of food. All she had eaten these last few days were the sparse offerings of the forest. She turned and went up the hall leading to her room. Her room was not very large, but was still quite close to the royal quarters. She and Legolas had become fast friends upon her arrival, and he was quick to move her closer to him. As Salireal prepared her bath and dress to change into, she thought back to the day she was brought to the woodland realm. She had been rescued by rangers from a marauding band of orcs in the far reaches of Arnor. Her family had not been so fortunate. The men of the north, her family included, had the proud lineage of Numenor in their blood, and most of the rangers imagined themselves the lost kin of Elendil. The rangers of the north were equal parts proud and shameful of their past, remembering the glory of the Numenoreans and the Kings of Old, while still holding great shame for the fall of Isildur and the loss of Arnor to the evil of Sauron. They also felt they were directly responsible for the fall of Isildur himself, many of which having ancestors whose duty it would have been to protect the last king from such evil. It was one of these such men, a scraggly and lost looking ranger, who had taken Salireal from the carnage of her home, and brought her south with him. She was barely a child when this had happened, but it had taken many years of wandering before he had found a suitable home for her. This ranger, Strider, he was called, was a great friend of the elves of the south, and he brought Salireal with him to King Thranduil and requested the elves care for her and teach her. Salireal had at first been apprehensive, even fearful of being left among Thranduil's people, but Strider had explained that the elves were wise and would protect her, and comforted her by confiding that he himself was raised by elves, in the house of Lord Elrond in Imladris, to the south. He was on his way there when he had left her in Mirkwood, and promised to return to the home of Thranduil on his way back north. This ranger was one of the Dunedain, as she was, and though they were blessed with long life from their Numenorean blood-lines, Salireal was still a child, by any race's consideration. She was barely 25 years old, and easily the youngest person in the halls of Thranduil's home, in most cases by thousands of years. When she had first arrived, she was held in a tranquil curiosity by the elves. Now, her novelty had worn off, and those who still paid attention to her did so in a fairly demeaning way. Everyone respected her skill as a tracker and her bravery that allowed her to venture deep into the woods alone, but most of the elves seemed to regard her as something of a pet, or a beloved grandchild. The only one who treated her more as an equal was Legolas. Or at the very least, he treated her like a very young sister.

Despite Salireal's decided lack of importance in Thranduil's court, she had become undeniably beautiful of late. Whether it was the regality of her bloodline or perhaps just simply by living among the people of the Elder race, Salireal had become decidedly elf-like in appearance. She finished bathing and draped the dark green gown over her body. She stopped in front of the tall mirror by her bed and regarded the figure reflected. She was not particularly tall, but she had the athleticism demanded of someone who often runs through woods and on top of trees. Her dark hair was long, and touched low on her back, and contrasted with her pale skin.

She exited her room and made down the corridor. As she strode towards the feasting hall, she overheard two guards discussing the dwarves held below. Salireal slowed her pace to listen, and overheard snippets of conversation. From what she could pick up, the one Thranduil suspected to be Thorin was being kept in the deepest cell of the dungeon, and his companions were dispersed throughout the rest of the lower levels. Salireal could smell the food from the feast, and could already hear the songs being sung, full of tales of glory from Beren and Luthien to Gil-Galad. She had heard such songs hundreds of times, and despite enjoying the company of Legolas, she was not a particularly social person, and rarely found herself partaking in conversation with the elves. They spoke often of art and music, and the greatness of their people; a topic that Salireal found she had very little to contribute to, since she herself had little knowledge of her own lineage. Salireal was already bored of the feast, and she had not even arrived in the hall. Slowing her pace again, she waited for those around her to pass by. When the last figure disappeared into the hall, Salireal back-tracked through the winding inner-corridors. She moved deeper and deeper through the keep, towards the dungeon's entrance, and saw only a solitary guard stood by. It was one of the younger guards, clearly being chosen to be left out from the festivities to stand watch for his lack of superiority. "Lady Salireal," he called, "should you not be up enjoying the feast?" he asked, somewhat resentfully. "Yes, probably," Salireal ventured, "but I'm curious about the… guests. I would not mind covering your post for a little while." She could see the guard weighing the consequences in his mind. Reluctantly, the guard relented, and left with vows to return quickly. Salireal wasted no time. She was curious about all of the other dwarves as well, but the one that held her highest curiosity was kept deepest in the dungeons, and was no small distance down. Moving quickly and quietly, only the swish of her silk gown betraying her movement, she stole deep into the tunnels. Reaching the bottom, she slowed and began peering into the cells. She reached the last cell, the smallest and most dank, and her eyes almost did not see the dwarf hunched in the dark corner. In fact, at first glance, Salireal thought he was a large stone resting against the roughly hewn wall. She had never seen a dwarf before, and had only heard tales of their deeds and their mountain dwelling, and their love of jewels and treasures. Salireal stood silent and peered intently at the hunched form. She could hear his breath rattling in his chest, and seemed to be in pain simply by breathing. She could see the dwarf's arms hung above his head, chained at the wrist. Salireal grabbed the torch from the opposite wall, and drew the light closer to the bars of the cell. The dancing flames cast shadows upon the dwarf's body, and threw into sharp relief the blood staining his travel worn clothes and the deep cuts and scrapes along his face and arms. "Why did they feel the need to chain him with his body broken and behind a locked cell?" she thought. She reminded herself that the King was wise, and if he felt that the dwarf warranted this much security, then surely he must be a danger. The light from the torch caused the dwarf to stir. He groaned in pain and shifted his weight as his eyes adjusted to the new light. Salireal drew back from the bars of the door and replaced the torch to its hold, throwing the dwarf back into darkness. The dwarf continued groaning, until Salireal realized that he was trying to speak. She drew closer to the door again, leaving the light behind her, and heard him croak, "water".

"They haven't given him water?" she thought, as she turned and searched in the dark for a bucket or pail. There was a full one just slightly up the hall, and she carried back down to the last cell. She reached for the handle to the cell, and hesitated, weary. Thranduil did not just lock anyone up for no reason, and surely the elves did not attack this dwarf unprovoked. To have gained such injuries, he must have inflicted some of his own onto the elvish guard. "Water," the dwarf croaked again. Salireal reasoned that he was still injured, and chained, and though she lacked strength, she was quick and could easily extract herself from the situation if need be. She unlatched the cell door, and crossed the tiny room to where the dwarf stood chained. She dipped the ladle into the bucket and held it to the dwarf's cracked lips. He drank the water noisily and thirstily, and she had to refill the ladle many times before the dwarf had finally had his fill. Placing the bucket down, Salireal examined the dwarf's face. She had never before seen a dwarf, and from the way Legolas had described them, she had expected to see the ugliest creature in existence. But this dwarf was not ugly. In fact, he could almost be fair, if cuts and blood and dirt did not mark his face. Curiosity filled her, and reaching forward, she touched his weather-worn face and instantly felt the blazing heat of his fever. Her education in elvish healing overpowered her fearful apprehension, and she bent down and began searching the dwarf's body for the source of the infection. Her nimble hands moved down to his leg where she saw the deep wound of a knife, swollen and festering in the dank of this cell. Salireal withdrew from the cell, taking the water bucket with her, and ventured back up the tunnel to retrieve some medicine and supplies from the upper levels. "Surely, despite his supposed dangerousness, Thranduil did not wish the dwarf dead?" Salireal reasoned as she gathered supplies. "Perhaps they simply did not know how dire his wound was?"

Taking her arsenal of medicinal supplies, Salireal made her way back down to the dwarf's cell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two: Thorin**

Thorin could not believe how unquenchable his thirst was. With each mouthful of water, his tongue seemed to become drier. The darkness was still too deep for him to make out who was spooning him the water, but he could make out a small, slender figure. "All these cursed elves look the same", he thought bitterly to himself. "They all _are_ the same; cowardly and treacherous". The figure receded to the door, which opened and then swung closed. He could hear the water slosh up the hall, and then could hear no more. Moments or hours later, he woke with a start, sensing someone approaching again. The torch was picked up and brought over to the cell door, and through the bars he could see the light was cast upon a female face. This elf had dark hair, spilling down her shoulders, and was clad in a long flowing gown of the deepest emerald. The color reminded him of the precious gems of his house, which presently lay under guard of a perfidious dragon. His mind swam feverishly with thoughts of gold and fire and death, and distracted him to the point where he did not hear the door open, nor see the elf enter the cell. He suddenly became aware of her crouching near his side, placing a cool, damp rag on his face. He pulled away from her touch, "Do not touch me, elf," he growled. "I am no elf," she forcefully replied. As she bowed over him to reach the festering wound on his leg, he saw the absence of the distinctive pointed ears and realized she was a mortal woman. "What is a woman doing in the dungeons of an Elf-King?" Thorin questioned. The woman raised her eyes to his, the light from the torch catching the sharp angles of her face, and she offered no reply. Thorin felt uncomfortable under her steady gaze, and felt as though her eyes were seeing deeply into him. Thorin's head spun with fever, and the woman reached across him to the bag sitting next to her and began pulling out herbs and medicine, and set about tending to his wounds. Thorin swam in and out of consciousness as she bandaged him, and found himself waking to the woman re-packing the medical supplies. She reached behind her for a rag and began gently cleaning his face and neck, and then his hands and arms, though she kept him chained. She began gathering up her belongings, and stopped, crouching low near his face again, and with a soft hand, reached up to his face and peered with her bright green eyes into his own, and said, "My heart does not tell me you are evil, dwarf." She spoke with a soft and melodious voice, and it seemed to Thorin that she was speaking more to herself than to him. "My name is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror," he replied, "and I thank you for your kindness." The woman regarded him quietly and made no reply. She rose inaudibly and turned for the door. "Wait," Thorin called, "I do not know your name, Lady." The woman turned, the light revealing the silent laughter in her face, and with a tone of amusement she said, "That is because I have not told you." And leaving an irritated Thorin staring after her, she swung shut the door and made her way back up the tunnel.

Thorin fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of golden halls, and looming dragons, and bright green eyes in the darkness. When next he woke, there was no sign of anyone outside of his cell, and he could not tell if it was day or night, nor how long he had been sleeping. Whatever healing the woman had done had broken his fever, and Thorin was feeling much stronger. He was also now painfully aware of how hungry he was. It felt like ages before his ears picked up the sounds of approaching footsteps, though perhaps it was only hours. The footsteps were too heavy to be the woman from before, and the shape that appeared in the darkness was taller than her form was, too. "I have brought you food, dwarf" said the male voice of an elf. Thorin suspected elf, because the way the voice said "dwarf" sounded like a curse and was spat, rather than spoken. The cell door was opened and in strode the elf, who unceremoniously dropped the plate before him. The elf turned to leave, and Thorin called, "My hands are still bound, how am I to feed myself?" The elf did not even break his stride, and turned to shut the door, and as he did, said "_Dina, wethrinaer._ Darkness take me before I bow and feed a dwarf," and he turned on his heel and strode away. The food (more like brown mush) sat cruelly in front of Thorin, whose stomach was loudly rumbling now. The raw ache of hunger gnawed at his insides, and the thirst from before was creeping back into his mouth. Thorin fell again into a fitful sleep, when he woke to find the light brighter than before, and heard the jingle of keys. He squinted into the light until he could make out the woman from before, swinging the door closed behind her and setting down a tray carrying a plate of food and a cup of water. She drew from her side a ring of keys, and regarded the dwarf carefully. "There are many who insist you are deadly, and swear that unchaining you will insure the death of many elves." The woman's voice was as gentle and melodic as before. "But I am not an elf," she continued, "and I do not think you will harm me. Am I wrong to think this, Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror?" Thorin half expected this was a dream. He nodded silently, but the woman was already bending down to his chains with the key. The shackles creaked open and swung from their bolts on the wall as Thorin's arms fell free. They hung limply at his sides, and the blood rushed painfully back into them. The woman backed quickly away from him towards the door, but did not leave. Thorin moved hungrily towards the plate of food, and inhaled the bread and meat and fruit she had brought down to him. He downed the water and held the cup to his mouth long after the last drops had fallen into his mouth. He looked over at the woman, still watching him from the mouth of the door. "Is there any more water?" Thorin inquired. Quietly, the woman exited the cell, shutting the door behind her, and quickly returned with the bucket. Thorin drank the entirety of the bucket greedily. Once he was through, he leaned back against the wall, and wearily gazed at the woman. She looked young, but her eyes to him seemed knowing and steady, as the surface of a very deep pool. She was not particularly tall, but he would not call her short, either. She moved with a grace and fluidity that reminded him of the elves, though the youthful look of her face revealed her mortal blood. "Will you tell me your name, now, Lady?" Thorin questioned. The woman cocked her head ever so slightly to the side, and softly answered, "Salireal". Thorin smiled at this allowance she had made to him. He tested his luck with another question: "And why is a woman, living among the woodland elves, coming to the aid of an imprisoned dwarf?" Salireal's lips twitched almost imperceptibly into a smile and replied, "I believe the words you meant to speak, were 'thank you'". Thorin bristled at this; "I will not ask your forgiveness, Lady Salireal. I have been given little reason to show gratitude to any of my _hosts_ thus met in Mirkwood". With these words Thorin's eyes glanced down at his wounded leg, and he rubbed his wrists where the iron had bitten and rubbed his flesh bloody. Salireal's eyes darkened and Thorin sensed her body stiffen, and angle subtly towards the door as she spoke. "I am told that you are dangerous. That you and your host had attacked Thranduil's people three times, and when they tried to stop you, you yourself killed many. I am also told that the only reason you are here is to exact your vengeance upon the house of Thranduil, for wrongs of the past."

Thorin used what little strength he still possessed to raise himself off the damp floor, but could barely bring himself to kneel. "That is a lie. My company and I were starving, and only sought to beg for food. It was they who attacked us. And as for the elves I have slain, if I had not ended their lives they would have taken my own."

"And what of your vengeance?" Salireal asked forcefully. Thorin's gaze grew even darker still, and spoke lowly, "Aye, vengeance is what I have come to seek, though not against the people of Mirkwood…. Though if I had, Thranduil would be deserving," the dwarf looked up and spoke more forcefully, "it is because of your _good_ king that thousands of dwarf lives were ended the day that the dragon Smaug came to Erebor. Thranduil rode his host out to the edge of our lands and stood there and watched as my people were burned alive, and our home was reduced to rubble."

With this statement the woman's intensity seemed to diminish. The anger and vehemence with which Thorin had just spoken had taken much of his strength, and Thorin could feel himself weakening again. He wobbled down, sitting again in the wet filth of the cell, and breathed heavily as his head leaned back on the wet stone wall behind him. He felt the cold of the stone against the feverish heat of his skin and closed his eyes. He began losing consciousness, and was distantly aware of a soft, soothing set of hands caressing his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three: Salireal**

Salireal watched as the Dwarf tried to raise himself up and failed, sinking back down to the floor of the cell. He seemed quite a large dwarf, though she had nothing to compare him to. Before he slumped back against the wall, shaking from the exertion of shouting at her, Salireal caught herself thinking that when Thorin was not beaten and shackled in a dungeon he must truly be a sight to behold. The dwarf's statement about King Thranduil rang in her ears. Of course she knew that Thranduil did not go to Erebor's aid, but only after its defeat had been certain, and the loss of life could not be justified. She did not know that he had brought his army to Erebor and had done nothing… "But perhaps the dwarf was lying," she thought. She watched Thorin slip in and out of consciousness and crossed the cell to kneel by his side. She felt his forehead to measure his fever, and before she could stop herself, she found herself caressing his worried face, willing the anger and pain from his mind. She stilled her hand and drew it away, standing abruptly. "Why did I do that?" she thought. She had absolutely no reason to trust or pity this dwarf, who, for all she knew, was a killer, bent on taking vengeance upon Thranduil any way he can get it.

Salireal left the cell and locked the door behind her. She made her way back up the tunnel, and out of the dungeons. Just as she was about to re-enter the main level, Legolas' lithe frame was striding toward her from across the hall. "He does not look happy", Salireal thought to herself.

"So this is why you were absent last night, and why you were nowhere to be found today?" Legolas asked irritably, "To go down into our dungeons and tend to a murderous dwarf?" He reached her side and leaned towards her and sniffed. "You smell of his filth".

Salireal sighed and continued walking. "Last night I was simply curious. When I found him he was half dead. And since I seem to be the only person in Mirkwood who is not revolted by the scent of dwarf, I thought it best for everyone if I tended to him," she countered quickly. More quietly she added, "And I do not think he is murderous. He is just afraid." Salireal stopped walking at this and turned towards Legolas fully, "And honestly, Legolas, if what he told me about Erebor's fall and the King is true, then he is right to be fearful."

Salireal immediately regretted her words. The reaction to her outlash was fleeting across Legolas' face, but she caught it nonetheless. "Why did I say that? These people are as good as my family. Legolas is my brother, why should I take the side of a strange dwarf over that of the people who raised me?" Salireal angrily thought. Legolas sensed her internal conflict and placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. "Your heart is gentle and kind, and any creature in pain would stir in you the desire to protect it," Legolas said softly to her, "And you are no longer a child, Salireal. You have lived in Mirkwood long enough to know that just because a beast is wounded does not mean he cannot strike".

Salireal shook her head as if to clear it, and leaned into Legolas' hold, resting her head on his chest, "I do not doubt he means to strike, I just doubt it is against your people. Or me." After a pause, Salireal looked up into Legolas' face and added, "And I want you to stop calling him a beast."

**Part Four: Thorin**

Thorin's strength was returning, slowly, but steadily with the aid of Salireal. "Salireal…" Thorin spoke her name quietly to the darkness. She had visited him every day for more than a week. Each time she had made sure his wounds were healing and that he was getting enough to eat and to drink. The last few times they had spoken at length about themselves. He had learned that she knew of the loss he was all too familiar with, with the loss of her own family in the north. She told him of her coming to live with the elves, and how she had tracked the dwarves back to the edge of Thranduil's borders. "If only she had found us first" he thought wistfully. He had told her about the fall of Erebor, about the loss of his people. He had started more than once to tell Salireal about the quest to reclaim the kingdom, but had stopped himself each time, not allowing himself to fully trust. Thorin could see the shadows deepening with the approach of a new torch. The torch was being carried by Salireal, and Thorin smiled in greeting. Salireal opened the door and slipped in, but before closing the door, held it open oddly long. Puzzled, Thorin looked at her questioningly. Salireal smiled and said, "I have brought you something to lift your spirits". Out of the shadows stepped Bilbo Baggins, the Hobbit, as if he had materialized from thin air. "What? How?" stammered Thorin, incredulously. Bilbo grinned, and explained, "I slipped in when first you were captured! I have been hiding in store rooms and down in the tunnels. I found out where they were holding you, and saw the Lady Salireal coming and going every day. It took me a while to decide she could be trusted, but I think she's alright, don't you?"Thorin stood and embraced the hobbit warmly.

Salireal kept glancing out of the cell door, and finally turned to them and said, "If you are going to leave, it must be tonight. There will be another feast, and Bilbo and I can get all of you out."

"All of us?" asked Thorin. Salireal paused, and then hesitantly said, "yes, the rest of the dwarves. Twelve more are being held. Do not worry," she quickly added, "I've seen to their wellbeing also." Thorin paused at this, and wondered why she had not mentioned the others. This stirred in him a familiar feeling of distrust, and anger at being kept from the truth.

Thorin stared at the woman angrily as Bilbo chimed in, "Yes! They're all here, and I have a plan to get us out. It's quite a brilliant plan really, you see, when the elves are through with their goods, they send the boxes up the river to Lake-Town. We can just hide in the boxes and barrels and ride the river!" The Hobbit sounded quite pleased with his cleverness, and grinned impishly at Thorin. Thorin was still staring at Salireal, "Why are you doing this? Healing me, befriending me, saving me? These elves are the only family you have, why would you betray them?"

Salireal tilted her head again, as she had the first night she had seen Thorin, as though trying to decide something important, and said finally, "When I first arrived here, I had nightmares every night about the death of my family. Legolas would always tell me the same thing, 'the past is for the dead, the present is for the living, and if you try to live in the past, then you too, shall die'. My family begrudges you freedom for the wrongs of the past that would best be forgotten. I am simply helping them to see that." A moment later she added, "If Legolas and Thranduil love me as a brother and father would, as I love them, then they will not see this as betrayal."

Thorin considered this, and felt conflicted as ever by the woman. Her words rang of loyalty and truth, but she had not told him of the others. Usually Thorin held a perpetual tone of skepticism, being cautious to a fault about people that he did not know. He only recently had began trusting the hobbit Bilbo, after a great deal of trial. But with Salireal, Thorin could not get his bearings. His experience told him to be weary of her, but some other part of him was innately gravitating towards her, and it made him feel muddled and made his senses feel slow. Salireal was steadily gazing at him from the doorway, and her eyes held him. Her green eyes felt like they were baring into him, and he was reminded again of a very deep pool with a very still surface. He felt his breathing slow, and heard himself saying, "If you say you can see us safely out, then you have my trust". He did not mean to say that. He meant to argue, and to test her allegiance. Salireal smiled imperceptibly, and said confidently, "I will see it done. Be ready." And turned on her heels and left the cell.


End file.
